It all started when I received a powerful psychic flash regarding the whereabouts of missing teenager Colette Linford. At first I thought my luck was in because before I could even pick up the telephone to dial 999 a dozen armed officers from the West Midlands Police had broken down my front door. I proceeded to tell them of my strong belief that Colette was trapped somewhere near the top of the Eiffel Tower but they did not seem convinced and begun to search my home.
It was then that I realized that the girl was not in fact in Paris at all but had shockingly been smuggled into my basement and tied to my old wrought iron bed, dressed only in some clothes belonging to my ex-girlfriend. I was just about to reveal this fact to one of the constables when I noticed that they had found the secret entrance to the basement and discovered Colette's whereabouts for themselves.
Naturally I was delighted to see her safe and well, and even may have mentioned in passing that I felt some reward for my services was probably owing when, to my utter astonishment, I was arrested and bundled into a police van. Apparently these poor simple-minded plods thought I might somehow be involved in the matter. Of course, I fully expected Colette to vouch for my utter and total innocence but here I was thwarted because she has been brain-washed by Guardian-reading opponents of my popular social nationalist political movement and so made a statement to the effect that I had kidnapped her and made her pretend to be my ex-girlfriend, repeatedly forcing her at knifepoint to apologise for dumping me.
Well I wasn't too worried about this because I knew I could rely on a jury of my peers to exonerate me from all blame. Again however I was confounded by my powerful enemies. Prince Phillip had taken a dislike to me over some remarks I may have inadvertently made about the Greek nation and their pioneering work in the field of homosexualism. Phillip therefore instructed his personal bitches at MI5 to nobble the jury and after a mere 8.5 seconds they returned a unanimous guilty verdict. The judge was forced by the ridiculously stringent laws against kidnapping teenagers and making them impersonate your ex-girlfriend to sentence me to 18 years in prison.
So there I languished, my astonishing paranormal gifts no longer at the beck and call of mankind. My great works to cure world hunger and bring about an end to all war left tantalisingly incomplete. However, now salvation has come in the form of Internet access from the prison library. I will only have time to write this one column before I get found out and returned to solitary, but it will be enough because you, my loyal but semi-retarded webadmirers will no doubt be horrified to discover what's happenned to me and will even now be rising up in a massive popular movement that will see Damien Hart finally vindicated, pardoned and, in time, elected your President.
So please get started now and remember, contrary to the claims of the unbelieving rationalists who have long tormented me, I did not make Colette watch me have a poo.
Damien Hart.
To find out more ways of experiencing carnality with The Dead, why not visit: http://www.derekacorah.org/
To read Damien's column about Sex, please click here.
To read Damien's column about Religion, and his dealings with God, please click here.
To read Damien's column about The Pyschic World, please click here.
To read Damien's column about Spiritual Healing, please click here.
To read Damien's column about Clairvoyance, please click Here.
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